The siblings looked at each other.
“We had to,” Lissa said. “It’s so much easier with the drug—”
“What’s easier?” Addie said.
Another glance between Ryan and Lissa. The sofa was solid against our back. Our fingers dug into the rigid fabric.
“Didn’t Eva tell you?” Ryan said.
Addie’s frown deepened. “How would Eva know?”
“Well …” Lissa tugged on a curl of her hair, wrapping it around her finger. “Eva was awake, right?”
“Of course not,” Addie said. “That’s not pos—”
<I was> I said.
The rest of Addie’s sentence lodged in our throat. It hurt to breathe around. <What?>
I hesitated. Lissa and Ryan watched us, studying our face. But I knew Addie wasn’t paying them any attention.
<I was awake> I said.
<But …> Addie faltered. <How?>
<I don’t know. The drug did it. They put you to sleep, but I—I was awake, Addie.>
Stunned silence. Her astonishment swirled bright and wild around me.
<But> she said <But—no, that’s—>
<I talked, too> I said, unable to stand it any longer. The very knowledge pushed at our bones. <I talked, Addie. When you were asleep.>
<Oh> she said. Then again, softer. <Oh.>
“Addie?” Lissa said. Her fingers hovered above our arm.
Addie looked up. Our lips parted. Then the sound came, hoarse and crackly. “Eva talked?”
Lissa smiled. “She did.”
Addie stared. She didn’t speak, not even to me. I matched her silence. I didn’t know what to say. And then, suddenly, she tried to stand. Our legs felt too frail to support our weight. “I’m … I’m going to go home.”
Lissa grabbed our arm as we wobbled. “No, Addie, stay. Please stay.”
“Wait a little longer. I’ll walk you back,” Ryan said. Addie looked at him. She didn’t even know he was Ryan, I realized. She thought he was still Devon.
“I’m okay,” she said. She tugged out of Lissa’s grasp and sleepwalked toward the kitchen. They hurried after us, their feet slapping against the hardwood floor.
“I’m coming with you,” Lissa called. “Just wait a second, Addie. I’m—”
Addie seemed not to hear.
<Maybe we should let someone walk us back> I said quietly as we stumbled and had to grab the counter. Addie didn’t respond. I didn’t mention it again.
She slipped into our shoes without tying the laces. But when she reached for our book bag, Ryan was already holding it. He nodded for us to go through the door first.
“I’ll go, Ryan,” Lissa said. “I can go—”
I didn’t know how the argument ended. I couldn’t hear because Addie had already stepped over the threshold, our shoelaces clacking as we walked. I heard the door close behind us. Then a voice by our ear: “You should tie your shoes or you’ll trip on them.”
Addie bent down and did the knots. Our fingers fumbled with the laces. When we stood again, Ryan was watching us.
“Well, come on,” he said, not unkindly. “I don’t know where you live, so you’re going to have to lead the way.”
They walked the first two blocks in silence, the mosquitoes out in full force. The humidity made it feel like we were slogging through sheets of suspended rain. The sky was straight out of a picture book, so perfect summer-spring blue it hurt to look at.
I couldn’t tell what Addie was thinking. Her mind was blank, her emotions boxed. The few cars on the road rushed by us as if we didn’t exist. They didn’t know who we were. What we’d done.
What I’d done. Spoken.
I’d spoken.
“What did she say?”
“Sorry?” Ryan said, turning to face us.
It took Addie a moment to repeat herself. “What did she say?”
“Who, Eva?” he asked.
She nodded.
Ryan frowned. “What do you mean?”
It didn’t make sense to him why Addie would ask him instead of me. I didn’t know, either. I didn’t think Addie knew.
“I want to know what Eva said while I was asleep,” Addie said. Our voice was low, almost raspy.
He was quiet for a second before answering. “She said: ‘I can’t.’” He inflected the last two words to show they were mine.
“Can’t what?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” he said.
Addie didn’t reply. Ryan looked away again, but he said, “Does that make you happy? That she spoke?”
“Happy?” said Addie.
Ryan stopped walking. Our eyes dropped to the ground.
“Happy,” Addie said again, softer. The lukewarm, water-logged air swallowed our voice.
“It’s okay,” Ryan said. “It’s okay if you aren’t.”
Slowly, Addie looked up and met his gaze.
“I think she understands if you aren’t,” he said.
They started walking again, taking their time in the heat even though the mosquitoes attacked with a vengeance. It wasn’t a day built for things like walking quickly.
Little by little, our house came into view. Squat, off-white, with a black-shingled roof and a row of straggly rosebushes, it had been one of the few we could afford when our parents decided to move. Our room was smaller than the one we’d had before, and Mom didn’t like the kitchen layout, but complaints had been kept to a minimum as we’d walked the halls for the first time. We might have been young, but not nearly so young we didn’t understand that doctors were expensive and government stipends only helped so much.
Soon, we stood in our front yard. The soft kitchen lights shone through the strawberry-patterned curtains.
“Here you go,” Ryan said, holding out our book bag. Addie looked at it as if she’d forgotten it was ours, then nodded and took it before turning and heading toward the house. “I’ll see you later, then, Addie,” he said.
He’d stopped at the edge of our yard, letting Addie walk the short distance to the door alone. There might have been a question buried in his words. Or it might just have been a reflex, a meaningless good-bye people passed around. I wasn’t sure.
Addie nodded. She didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Later.”
She was wiping our shoes on the welcome mat when he added, “Bye, Eva.”
Addie stilled. The air smelled of dying roses.
<Bye> I whispered.
Our hand froze on the doorknob. Slowly, Addie turned around.
“She says bye,” she said.
Ryan smiled before walking slowly away.
After that day, Addie and Hally walked together to her house every afternoon after school. Addie no longer drank the tea; it